If you pay any attention to art and culture - and as you know, they simply drip from my every pore, dahlings - you've probably heard about Anish Kapoor's Marsyas (the Big Purple Thing) at the Tate Modern.
That's all it was to me until the weekend - a big purple thing by the guy who had also done A Mirror and Some Other Stuff. I'd heard gushing reports about its splendour, so it was on my "To Do" list out of a sense of duty (somewhere in the "things that I will never do but that make me feel better for writing them down" section). However, cynical old curmudgeon that I am, it sounded like a bit of a gimmick and I wasn't sure what all the fuss was about.
We ended up at the Tate Modern at 'bel's request, as far as I remember. Mike is a self-professed regular visitor and I'd been there previously (though only once, as an afterthought to the newly-opened Millenium Bridge - always meant to go back, always something else to do instead). I was looking forward to seeing both the Tate and the Kapoor, but nothing prepared me for the spectacle of walking through the main entrance into the Turbine Hall and staring straight at Marsyas for the first time.
My first impression was of its size. It is simply enormous. You take the Turbine Hall for granted because maybe you're used to big, inhuman spaces, but when it's filled with something like this you reassess its capacity. My second impression was of its colour - it's a warm, alluring pink-burgundy-purple that contrasts nicely with the hall's grey-black-white interior. Thirdly, I was captivated by the shape of the structure, a huge steel hoop encompassing something between an orchid and an old-fashioned 78rpm gramophone player's horn.
I think we stood literally one metre inside the door and stared at it for around ten minutes, utterly amazed. Close up, the surface of the material was matt and scratched, but thirty or forty feet up in the air it looked as smooth as silk. "Fantastic," I kept muttering, eventually asking "is there anything on the other side?" "Oh yes," said Mike with a smirk, "there certainly is."
Walking round the edge of the structure and looking at its "back", I suddenly realised that I really had underestimated both the size of the Turbine Hall and of Marsyas itself. Both stretched into the distance for as far as the eye could see, Marsyas narrowing to a narrow tube up on the ceiling before becoming bulbous and funnel-shaped again in the middle of the hall. I realised that the first time I had visited, half of the hall had been partitioned horizontally to create a mezzanine level - probably explaining why my expectations had been of something so much smaller.
We walked to the other end of the hall where a second steel hoop provided the final opening into the structure. This one is at a slight angle to the building, unlike the one by the entrance, but is no less imposing because of it. Mike pointed out the fact that the structure simply rests on the floor and that - although it must surely be suspended, or at least anchored, in the middle - there are no obvious indications of Marsyas being physically attached to the walls or ceiling of the hall.
Appropriately, given the structure's similarity to a gramaphone horn, I was like a stuck record. "Fantastic... Amazing... Fantastic..." No words can convey the sheer sense of awe that this artwork provoked in me. It went beyond being mere gaudy spectacle and provoked a sense of wonder and reverence that few works of art have ever managed for me, however much I've enjoyed or appreciated them.
To view the third opening - which is horizontally aligned, unlike the two vertical end hoops - you return to the middle of the hall and go up the steps to a small mezzanine level. On Mike's advice, we had left this to the end and it was truly the most memorable part of the experience. As you stand on the mezzanine level, you can see up into the structure and along the most narrow part back to the original hoop by the entrance. This is when it struck me: this sculpture has so much sheer presence that it's almost alive.
This is where I lost the plot completely and started rambling on about it having an organic energy that made me feel like I'd come into contact with an alien intelligence. It truly is like being in the presence of a benign life form, maybe a similar vibe to standing next to a five hundred year-old tree in a quiet, deserted wood. More specifically, the lines running across the structure that accentuate its shape convey the somewhat less benign feeling of being inside the stomach of a large animal (Jonah and the whale?).
For four nights from Thursday to Saturday, the London Sinfonietta were performing a specially commissioned musical work by Arvo Pärt, LamenTate, underneath this very part of Marsyas. The chairs and the stage were already set up and we had seen the instruments in storage downstairs. The chairs had cleverly been chosen in the same colour as the sculpture itself, a nice holistic little touch that put the audience in even greater hamony with its environment.
I realised with a little shock of pleasure that the sculpture would have extraordinary accoustic capabilities and wondered what it would be like to stand at one of its trumpet-like ends while the music was playing. Or indeed, what it would be like to stand in any part of the hall while the performance was in progress. I'm sure that the air would never have vibrated so beautifully.
We wandered half-heartedly along the balcony, knowing that there was so much more to see, but unable to drag ourselves away. As we loitered, I overheard two teenagers talking. "What's it FOR?" asked one; "it's art, innit," said her friend. It certainly is and if I feel a comparable intensity of response to any other work of art before the end of the year I will consider myself a very fortunate man.
Marsyas is at the Tate Modern until 6 April and if you're in any way interested, intrigued or even outraged at the apparent misuse of public money, I strongly recommend you to go along and experience it for yourself.
While you're there, check out some of the other works in the gallery as a whole. Even sticking to the free parts of the gallery, I don't think we covered more than half of them. Specific recommendations are Michael Craig-Martin's The Oak Tree, Cornelia Parker's Cold Dark Matter and Piero Manzoni's infamous Merda d'Artista. It was great to see Sam Taylor-Wood's Still Life again, a mesmerising video tableau of decomposing fruit, which I love on a number of levels (colour, texture, process, mortality). Ceal Floyer's Light Switch - a 35mm slide projection of a light switch onto the wall, just next to the entrance - was cute, but rather one dimensional (both in concept and execution).
Other pieces spring to mind. There was a photographic piece that was ostensibly a comment on environmentalism, but in the light of recent news its scattered arrangement of spaceman and space-shuttle erasers across a bleak, black background suggested something else entirely. On an equally gloomy note, the Rothko room initially failed to move me, not having been a fan of his work previously, but we sat down and chatted and after a few minutes I began to feel the first stirrings of interest in his monolithic, subdued visions.
Britain might not be able to do basic infrastructure like transport, education or healthcare very well, but the Tate Modern is welcome evidence that when it comes to the arts we seem to be uncharacteristically confident and well-organised. Long may this continue.
Posted by Hg on Wednesday 12 February 2003 at 17:55.
Received 12 comments so far.
Hmmm might try and get down there in March..
Although I must admit that my view of the Arts differs somewhat. Personally if I would rather see an efficient healthcare system in place, proper transport options, well funded schools etc etc
And yes I know art has a place in society but I still have a niggling feeling in the back of my head whenever I start this discussion (in my head also, like now).
And... well I think I'll email you tomorrow (presuming I remember) as I'm beginning to ramble...
am hoping to come mid-April (around Easter) for a week with ModHusband and ModSon in tow. I hope this exhibit gets extended....sounds fabulous.
at least you feel Britain does art well. Our healthcare education and transport are all terrible, and there is no support for the arts, only for war. depresssing...
Comment by ModSue on Thursday 13 February 2003 at 00:46.
"Personally if I would rather see an efficient healthcare system in place, proper transport options, well funded schools etc etc"
Couldn't agree more. In an ideal world... However, in reality the money comes from different sources and is ringfenced. As far as I recall, the Tate Modern was funded from lottery money and the government won't let the NHS be subsidised by the lottery because that would be "inappropriate".
Fair point then.
You know you'd think I'd learn to research my arguments before I started them.... sorry discussions... ach you know what I mean.
Didn't realise (but got the feeling that I did know) that the Tate was lottery funded.
Two excuses:
1. I was knackered
2. I'm an 'ideal world' kinda guy. If we don't aim for it, how can we get close?
I could be wrong, I should probably research as well before posting something so superficially authoritative :-)
I'm with you on the knackered thing. Check the timestamp of my response to you - that was posted from work :-(
Oh, and Sue - fabulous news! I am such a worthless piece of crap for not replying to your e-mails. Only defence is that I keep putting it off "until I have some time" so I can write you a nice, long, detailed response. Never happens.
I trust we'll get the opportunity to meet up again, that would be great. Also to meet your nearest & dearest. Sorry for using a public forum to get this message to you, but see the second part of my previous reply to Gordon - my time is not my own at the moment.
Wow -- I see what 'bel and Mike mean: you are good at describing exhibitions. I now really want to see this.
Stuart,
No problem on the lack of 'personal' communication, I totally understand... me with two jobs, one child, etc etc. I have no free time either. Just gave notice at the job I hate though so hopefully life will be better soon.
I will let you know when we finalize plans. We were supposed to visit my family in L.A. in April, but Gav is geared up to see the Bond exhibit at the London Science Museum. It ends April 27th so we really want to come there instead, then go to L.A. in summer. But the 'war thing' might get in the way.
Plus we're all so busy putting up the duct tape and plastic... have y'all heard about that in other parts of the world? Our government announced that we're supposed to protect ourselves from chemical warfare by covering our windows and doors with plastic sheeting and duct tape. Brilliant policy by the Bush brain trust, don't you think? I know I feel safe and secure now....
Comment by ModSue on Friday 14 February 2003 at 05:19.
I was hugely impressed when I went to see Marsyas at the backend of last year. There's a few more photos on my own site, hanging around the URL for photos.
It's a mind-boggling thing - but I'd love to have heard the music coming through the entire piece - I think that must be stunning.
Great pictures, Lyle. I'm going to draw people's attention to them in the blog, because this comments box is getting a little old now.
You mentioned Sky Mirror. It's nice, but not awe-inspiring. If you went to Nottingham with the sole purpose of seeing it, you might be disappointed. However, there are plenty of other things there to keep you busy and it's well worth seeking out in the context of the city centre as a whole.
Thanks, Stuart - I know Nottingham's got a lot more to offer than the Sky Mirror, I go there fairly regularly, just never got round to seeing it.
The joys of knowing people who aren't into the same kind of weird stuff as oneself, eh?
Glad you liked the photos too - they were a sod to try and frame properly, because Marsyas is so keffing huge. I wanted to convey some aspect of that size, but it really is something that has to be seen to be believed. Being a bit of a people watcher, I loved watching the people coming in to the Turbine Hall, and just seeing the look on their faces when they realised how big the piece is. I'm sure the words "Fucking Hell..." were uttered more times than anywhere outside a dodgy C4 drama about inner cities in the North.
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